


less like a revelation

by Vintage (KyberHearts)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, closeted feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyberHearts/pseuds/Vintage
Summary: “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Trying to figure out what it means to me. Sometimes I think of other women and I… don’t know what to do with those feelings. Romantic feelings. Like I wanna--”You’ve never said it aloud before.“--kiss them."





	less like a revelation

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: the author struggles with her own feelings

The metal rungs warm under your hands, but you make a quick ascent before the train fully departs from the station. You drink in the low rumble of the coal engine and the mechanical wheels; they’re sounds of  _ home _ . And though it’s chilly in the autumn morning, you don’t regret bringing your bright green jacket, courtesy of the Rooks. No need to draw passerby’s attention as you seat yourself on the smooth caboose roof.

You’ve seen these grimy, rundown alleyways and flats before. You’re not a stranger to Whitechapel or its acrid ambience, but sometimes you need that sensation of familiarity when too much is happening at once.

Out of the corner of your eye, a worn, gray flat cap peeks over the edge. It takes you a moment to recognize those strange, gleaming bracers. Then you see that unmistakable patchwork coat, and Jacob Frye squints at you for a long moment. “Saw you from the window,” he says as he clings to the ladder. “Moping about?”

“Just a little.”

“What about?”

“Give me your hat and then we’ll talk.”

The Assassin grins, then hops up on the roof. He’s extraordinarily balanced as he lazily strolls over to you. Jacob yanks off his cap and adjusts it on your head; it’s too big, and it slips into your vision. Immediately, the wind tousles his long hair and gives him that boyishly handsome look. He sits with his back against yours, facing the opposite direction.

“Your-- fuckin’ belt-- is digging into my spine--”

Jacob pushes back even more and you jam an elbow in his ribs. Faking a wince, he stretches out his legs and knocks his muddy boots against the side of the carriage. “All right. You’ve got the hat. What’s on your mind?” Underneath that drawling, playful tone, you recognize a thread of reassurance. Genuine. Compassionate.

He’s told you before, that you mean more than just a Rook. And it’s true that you knew him first as a boy from Crawley, not a gang leader or a leader in the revolution against Templars. Chancing upon him in the capital was like finding an old friend; joining the Rooks was a second thought.

The locomotive passes underneath an arch, and shrouds the two of you in cool, quiet darkness. Then in the next moment, it hurls you back into the morning sunlight.

Maybe the dark-haired man senses that your thoughts are still unraveled and tangled, so he speaks first. “Well, you heard the good news. Evie and Greenie are engaged. Who could’ve seen it coming? After months and months of long, arduous looks both on and off the field, protecting each other, fighting for each other… why, it’s a match made in heaven.”

“I’m happy for them.”

There’s a small pause. “Me too,” he admits. “It’s hard to find people you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

“Jacob?”

“Yes, love?”

You draw your knees close and tuck your chin inward. Your voice is soft, unsteady, but he manages to hear your confession past the chattering train tracks. “I think I like women.” His breath hitches in his throat-- you can  _ feel _ the way his shoulders halt in their rhythm, and there’s a sudden tension in both of your bodies. Like a taut, frayed rope waiting to snap.

“Well, I do, too.”

“ _ Jacob-- _ ”

“But, y’know,” he interrupts, angling his head slightly to look at you. “I like men, too.”

The frustration and anger bubbling in your throat instantly disappears as you dumbly process his words and think,  _ I didn’t know that about Jacob Frye. _ “Really?”

His whole body heaves with a sigh. “Yeah.” The Assassin bumps his head against yours. “So we’re fucked.”

“How’d you…” The question trails off, but it’s horrifically clear. You play with the edge of the flat cap, loving its hewn texture.

“There was a man,” Jacob begins, “as there usually is. And I had a chance to be--  _ whatever _ I wanted. I could be more lenient with my morals, with the Creed, for fuck’s sake, he was a Templar. Then I think I realized a little too late, that it wasn’t safe to… be whatever with  _ him _ .”

He clears his throat.

“And you?”

You shrug. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Trying to figure out what it means to me. Sometimes I think of other women and I… don’t know what to do with those feelings. Romantic feelings. Like I wanna--”

_ You’ve never said it aloud before. _

“--kiss them. And it’s-- hard, because I thought it was sumthin’ I needed to know from the beginning. Or it had to be sudden, and that you’re supposed to celebrate because you’re finally--  _ okay _ with this part of yourself.” You curl further into your posture, like you’re trying to hide from view. “And then telling you is-- it’s just--”

“It feels like nothing’s changed,” Jacob murmurs. “Less like a revelation, more like a burden?”

You take a shaky breath. “Yeah. Are we... supposed to feel happy for telling each other?”

Jacob scratches the scar on his chin. “Blind leading the blind,” he jokes lightly. “But if I figure anything, it’s that we’re not ‘supposed’ to feel or do anything. We just  _ are  _ who we are. It’s nobody’s business.”

He shifts, then turns around to face you. You numbly follow suit. Legs and muddy boots tangle until Jacob drags you up against his side. He playfully tugs on the front of the cap, dragging it over your eyes. Yeah, he’s still just a boy from Crawley, and you love him in whichever city he decides to raze next.

“Let’s reckon,” he says, “it feels like nothing’s changed because we know each other too well. Just because you might fall in love with a woman makes no difference to our friendship. I’m glad you told me. I’m glad I told you. We might be royally fucked because we’ve no idea what to do, but--”

Jacob takes your hands, and presses them between his gloved ones. Everything about him is warm: his touch, his scent, his voice.

“I hope that you can be happy,” he tells you. “‘Cause I’m happy for you.”

For the first time, something other than doubt and uncertainty fills your thoughts for the future.

Something like relief.


End file.
